


Responsibility

by TwoCatsTailoring



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, How Ignis got his cane., Post-Altissia (Final Fantasy XV), Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22466191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoCatsTailoring/pseuds/TwoCatsTailoring
Summary: Camelia knows what her job is, knows it all too well. But with Weskham, she can at least be honest about how she feels.
Relationships: Weskham Armaugh/Camelia Claustra
Kudos: 1
Collections: Short Things from TwoCatsTailoring





	Responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> “No.”

It was rare that Weskham refused outright anything that Camelia offered him, but this? This was not an offer so much as it was her begging him to take her place.

“Please, Weskham.” Her voice was tight, constricted with emotion. She’d demanded that the young King of Insomnia use his own people to protect hers and they had done that. Four Altissian people had died - an elderly couple who refused to leave their home, one gondolier, and a medic who’d been too precipitous in rushing back into the city - and other than the expected evacuation injuries of sprains, cuts, and bruises it all went off without a hitch.

Almost.

Camelia felt a sense of painful responsibility for the people her city had lost. She had been through the returning crowds, talking to the families and offering whatever consolation to them that she could in person. It did not come naturally to her, the comforting, relating, and suffering with them but by the Gods, she would do it. She had given the go-ahead for the Rite to take place, she had sheltered the Oracle, she had approved and made happen all of the events that led to the loss of life and the loss of homes and businesses in Altissia.

It was her responsibility to see to the rebuilding. She had been elected here and she would do as she had promised to serve these people. Even if she had no idea what the right words were to comfort the too-young widow of the dead medic.

But this? This was a part of her culpability that she could not fathom. She did not have the words to comfort strangers to her, people who’s only ties were in that they very likely did vote for her if the last election numbers were to be believed. Camelia Claustra could muddle through that with the diplomacy and tact that she already had.

But how was she supposed to apologize to someone who, to her eyes barely out of boyhood, she was responsible for what would likely be a career-ending injury? Of course, extending her apologies to his King would have to wait to see if he ever woke again, but Camelia wasn’t in the business of borrowing trouble. This day already had enough in it and it wasn’t even half-past ten in the morning.

She had known, from Weskham of course, that this man - so young. Why did they all have to be so young? - that this one was the tactician, the planner, the reasonable one who kept them all on task, fed, and focused. He was the wisdom, the sense, the eyes and ears of their little team.

And now, because of her decisions, he was blind. Yes, they had offered him some level of hope that his vision would improve but Camelia wasn’t stupid. It would never come back with any clarity. Burns like that did not just heal but she was not going to rob the forlorn party of what little hope they had.

“Please. I can’t do this again. Not with them.”

“And I will not, leaving you only two choices.” He sighed heavily and stepped closer to her, taking her hand in his and giving it a tight squeeze. “And you know which is the right one.”

She set her jaw in a tense line and looked away from him to the long, sleek, dark blue box on her desk. “He might refuse.”

“He won’t. At least not outright.” He also wouldn’t refuse to use it once he’d tried without it a few times, but Weskham wasn’t going to add that.

Camelia stared hard at the box a little longer, playing over in her mind how she could send a messenger to deliver the slender black cane with her apologies for not being there, for not being able to deliver it herself, for letting them rush back in after getting out of harm’s way.

Her mind and heart both rejected that notion out of hand. Easy, yes. Virtually painless, yes. Better for her, with all the drains on her time and energy as people returned and damaged was assessed and Gralea billed. Easy, painless, efficient.

And completely wrong.

“Tell me that you all were this reckless in younger days.” Her shoulders finally sagged, she’d conceded the internal battle to herself at last.

Weskham chuckled, a sound she loved rumbling from deep in his chest. “We were worse. Older and worse. And we all survived.”

Camelia rolled her eyes and squared her shoulders again, chin lifting, mouth set in its firm line. She let go of Weskham’s hand and nodded. “That’s all any of us can do, isn’t it? Survive." 

She moved to press the button on her desk, the intercom buzzing faintly in the next room. "Daria, when the Section 7 representative arrives at eleven, apologize for me if I’m not back. My errand shouldn’t take that long, but just in case it does I want him to know that he’s not forgotten.”


End file.
